The red grapes have finished their fermentation. They are pressed and let to rest in vats. The white wine is almost there.
Grapes dried up like raisins several weeks before harvest, crushed grapes after hail and grapes eaten by thirsty wild boar.
Wine and a vineyard in Italy in a warm springsun is tempting. This time I am here be myself for a week. It is the first time. It is secluded. Far away from the village.
Have you ever dreamt of crushing grapes with your bare feet? Do you wonder what it feels like?
The thought of walking on newly harvested grapes bring notions of romance and traditi
With newly sharpened scissors in my hand, I stand there in front of the vines. I feel uncertain. I know I need to do a major pruning of each plant. But it is an art to know how.